When Peace Isn't Enough
by RoughBuncher
Summary: 30 years after the great war tension mounts between the humans and sangheili. A series of terror plots from both races threaten to throw London into a chaotic war that could escalate beyond just Earth, a war the likes of which we may never recover from. Join the forces of order trying to prevent such an occurrence... and the forces of chaos instigating it.
1. Of Mates, Agents and Pissed Ambassadors

-AN

Hello all. Rough Buncher here. This is the second fan fiction that I've started. I've been planning it for a while and have finally put proverbial pen to paper and started writing. Rated M for swearing, violence, dark themes and inclusion of cockneys. Of course, I do not own rights to halo, its universe or its characters, only the content I have created myself. Now, read, review and enjoy!

25/08/13 Update: I've removed many of the repetitions of the word 'but' as it was getting... Well... Repetitious. I also changed the final two scenes quite significantly for realism.

* * *

The interesting thing about having an opinion is that stating it causes others to develop their own opinions. Unfortunately, a side effect of this is that others will often develop an opposing opinion. Of course, there will be others whose self-developed opinions will naturally align with yours. So what does one do? Does one keep their opinions to themselves, leaving others' opinions to lie dormant? Or does one simply make their opinion as tantalising and persuasive as possible to reduce the number of opposing opinions formed?

As with many things there is no right or wrong answer, and if a decision must be made then the result depends on the person and the circumstance. By the year 2587, many opinions have been formed on the subject of interspecies peace. More specifically, peace between the sangheili and humans. The Sangheilian Diplomatic Union (SDU) have set up embassies on Earth, treaties have been signed and legislature passed. But from those who have expressed their opinion that peace should be maintained, the opposing opinion that all peace should be broken has been catalysed into development. Disdainful groups of humans and sangheili alike plot against organisations both within their own species and the species in which they hold their ultimate enmity.

It is impossible to tell what the ending of such a situation will be; although it requires only simple logic to predict that the path to said ending will be long, violent and convoluted.

* * *

_"Happy birthday to you dear friend. In the real old days you'd send a card on special occasions like this. However, in the modern age, a message on your pad will have to do. In a burst of unusual recreational activity I thought up this poem and felt that it applied to you pretty well:_

_I'm happy to have met a prat,_  
_Such as you, you fucking twat._

_Elf like in your miniscule stature,_  
_You're a Santa's helper caricature._

_Satisfied you're not a snitch,_  
_Even if you're a moany bitch._

_I'm glad I've got ya Little Steve,_  
_And hope you receive,_  
_This message with mirth._

_Yours truly, _

_Big Ben (or as you guys have come to call me, the Old Clock)"_

The pad's touch screen was pressed and a prompt subsequently displayed "Are you sure you wish to delete message?" After another press "Message deleted."

The five foot tall man known as "Little Steve" was sat down in a ragged, brown leather chair with pad in hand. Opposite him was a TV, either side of which were thin decorative curtains covering square glass windows. The dim light of sunset penetrated these and reflected off of both the stout man's bald white head and the frown he wore on it. Dissatisfied facial expression persisting, he lowered the pad onto a small wooden table to his left, folded his arms, crossed one leg over the other and turned his gaze to the television.

Likewise focused on the TV were two men to Little Steve's right, sitting on a leather sofa of similar colouration and condition to the man's chair. One was equipped with short shiny black hair, a likewise moustache and one of those ever-unimpressed stares. The other owned fairly long, spiky brown hair, a pale face and a gaunt, slightly vacant gaze.

The subject of the three men's attention was a press conference displayed by one of the most widely hated but commonly viewed news networks, the BBC. This would have been a perfectly familiar viewing experience were it not for the podium speaker's sangheilian origin. The alien was in the middle of his speech, his voice clear and strong. "My brother's unfortunate cardiac failure was a personal blow to me, as well as a blow to the union which I proudly serve. But we will not let it set us back. A new liaison for inter-agency negotiations has already stepped in to fill his position, and in our united goal to further both the sangheili's and humanity's interests, we will be bonded as brothers would be. Thank you." A respectful clap of hands arose from the observers surrounding the podium however it was soon cut short as Little Steve promptly muted the television.

"Nice to see our work make the news, but God don't it make ya sick. That fuckin' podium's built for a human to stand behind. Bloody split-chinned prick's twice its fuckin' size!" Little Steve's accent carried an abrasive cockney edge to it, an edge classically associated with the city of London in which he now resides.

Non-committal grunts of agreement sounded from both of his couch sitting associates. The moustached one placed a cigarette in his mouth and lit it with a flick lighter. The resulting noise and sparkle of illumination drew the attention of the room's other inhabitants: Little Steve's head slowly turned from the TV to the man, expression neutral, while the spiky haired one's eyes flashed between moustache man and Little Steve repeatedly, gaunt gaze still in place and mouth hanging just slightly open.

The oblivious man simply closed and stashed away his lighter before crossing a leg over the other and continuing to watch the noiseless, moving images of the television screen. He sat this way for another ten seconds or so before glimpsing the other couch sitter's stare during one of his exhalations of smoke. After a second of observing this stare he turned his attention to Little Steve, whose neutral gaze held a sinister unsettlingness.

Cigarette still held between two fingers, the man's eyes glanced back and forth as he tried to figure out what was wrong. Little Steve saved him the trouble "Dave, tell this noob, scratch that nob, about my rule."

The spiky haired man thought for a second, pulling an eyes to heaven, before turning to the smoker and stating simply "You ain't smoke indoors."

Dave's unclear statement lit up the disapproving area of Little Steve's brain, prompting the appearance of another frown. "Dave, I know your cognitive cogs ain't quite turnin' properly, but could you be a little more clear mate."

The not quite all there man was rapt with concentration as he found a way to reword his sentence. Reaching some kind of conclusion he tried again "You ain't s'posed smoke indoors."

"That's a little more like it. Now listen noob," Steve raised an explanatory finger, "I don't know how you were livin' before you joined the gang. Now though, you're in a shared livin' space. Blasting your smoke round is socially insensitive in a shared livin' space. So stub the thing out, and don't pull that shite again you hear me?"

The man's moustache twitched to the left once or twice while he stared at his oppressor. However, deciding not to pursue the issue he pointedly looked into Little Steve's eyes before dousing his ciggy on his tongue, standing up and walking to a bin to dispose of it. If one listened closely, one could here mentions of "No one told me..." and "draconian living..."

Steve's eyes trailed the man's movements for a short moment before turning to the TV, hand pressing unmute on the remote.

* * *

"I demand an explanation as to why my brother is lying dead in a morgue at this present moment."

"Demands are not necessary Ambassador Pulam. We are in a state of mutual cooperation after all."

A deep blue skinned sangheili wearing his race's standard politician's robes was leaning forward with frustration on a large computer chair, surrounded by a blue and purple themed office characteristic of his kind. On the wall opposite him was mounted a broad and tall communications screen, on which was displayed two individuals: a man and a woman. Both stood at parade rest, the former had dark brown hair and similarly coloured eyes, while the latter possessed bright purple eyes with a palpable and disconcerting glow to them. She stood half a foot taller than the man.

The extra terrestrial released an exhale before leaning back in his chair and laying a hand on his forehead. "You need not remind me of our treaties Agent Johnson." The hand departed his head at this point. "However, I am sure you can appreciate my displeasure at the situation."

"Of course, and you have my condolences." Whereas one may expect a "thank you" or "much appreciated" after this phrase, all that Johnson was met with was a cross of the arms and a steady, neutral stare. After a moment of hesitation the clean shaven man continued. "Toxicology tests conducted postmortem revealed that your brother had ingested a time delayed poison several hours before his death which instigated the cardiac arrest. It would seem that the man who had brought him his final batch of refreshments was responsible. Surveillance didn't catch him doing anything to the drinks but he later attempted to commit suicide. He lost his nerve... Botched it up, shooting himself in the chin."

The woman interjected here "My boys were able to find 'im soon after that part." Her voice was rough and distinctly cockney.

"Our boys, Joanna." Johnson corrected.

"The boys." Joanna settled.

Johnson nodded his head and was about to proceed before being interrupted by the ambassador. "This is shambolic, you do realise? Our sangheilian liaison is assassinated by a human employee within your government buildings. That does not bode well for any involved parties."

"No, it doesn't. We understand the sensitivity of the situation. This is why we have retained the exact nature of Era's death from the public."

"Hmmm." The sangheili tilted his head to one side and made a conceding motion with his eyebrow ridges. "I suppose I cannot fault you on your handling of that element of the issue. Now I presume that you attempted to 'extract' information from this felonous degenerate. To what extent was this successful?"

The purple eyed woman responded to this. "Well, we discovered that the man's part of a larger organisation that he named as 'Big Ben's Boys'. Though he says he doesn't know of any other infiltrations nor of any cells."

"Did he appear to be deceiving you?"

"We have no evidence to use as context and sensors didn't tell us he was lying."

"Right. Was there anything else?"

" 'E said this was only the beginnin' but I'm not sure about that: 'e lacked conviction and was pretty anxious."

Johnson's eyes glanced in her direction momentarily before returning to the sangheili.

"Do not leave his claims at that though will you?"

"Of course not."

"Good. I am sure you're not finished with this man. If you will, keep me apprised of your progress with him."

"Yes Ambassador." spoken by both man and woman.

"This conference is concluded." Pulam pressed a button on his wrist mounted computer, cutting off the video feed and leaving a blank screen in its place. A deep sigh that was curiously similar to a cough was released by the room's only occupant. Then, without obvious stimulus, he chuckled slightly. "Humans. The go to race of people when it comes to concealing the truth from the public and subjecting a man to horror for interrogative purposes."

* * *

Many miles away from the sangheilian embassy within which the above exchange occurred was the headquarters of the National Defense Agency (NDA). Two fairly high ranking members of this organisation were Agent Johnathan Johnson and Raid Operations Chief Joanna Joannan: two people presently standing before a black comms screen, engaged in somewhat of a tiff.

"Must you be so... Unrefined." spoken by the man, two fingers stretching across his brow.

"Fuck you John. You know I'm not some Hooray Henry prat. I'm not into all that 'no conjunctions there' and 'don't speak your mind, speak what they want to hear' stuff." Joanna had applied a poncy British accent to that last section.

"Well I'm not especially into it either but, as part of the job, I make sure to appear into it in front of influential sangheilian high-ups."

The woman raised her arms in a gesture of frustration. "Oh come on, he's not gonna have us stabbed in our sleep because I didn't speak formally." Joanna placed her left hand on her hip and waved her other in a dismissive motion. "I'm sure 'e's got his personal murderers stabbing other, more socially offensive, individuals." A heavy layer of sarcasm was spread thick across her second sentence.

Johnathan released a considerable exhalation of air, his irritation following it out of his lungs. "Just..." He raised a hand near his head. "Try and speak in a more formal tone next time." The hand bobbed back and forth in a bargaining motion. "If not for him then for me."

"Just like I wore a suit in that conference for you?"

"Yes."

"Ok John. Ok. Now, we good?"

"Yeah."

"Bro fist."

A quiet fleshy thump accompanied the joining of knuckles that occurred between the two associates.

* * *

-AN

To those that are following To Lose Your Way To Memory Lane, I am still interested in that story however this one is taking precedence at the moment. Rough Buncher out.


	2. The Dark Path To Discovery

-AN

Hello all, by writing for seven hours straight without taking bathroom breaks or consuming food/water I have managed to finish this chapter quite quickly (wow, that sounds a bit extreme now that I've written it down). I hope it is to everyone's liking and I always appreciate constructive criticism on any points of my writing that you wish. Thank you to all that are viewing this story. Now read and enjoy!

23/08/13 Update: Removed some repeated phrases and filled in a missing word or two.

25/08/13 Update: Removed more repetitions of the word 'but' and made a couple of capitalisation corrections.

* * *

The room was small and square. At its centre was a metal table, behind it, a steel chair, sitting on that, a man tied up wearing a face hugging mask with electrical wires leading from its back to the floor. A blacked out window stood sunken into the wall on the opposite side of the table from the man, and adjacent to that sat a woman with hard, radiant, purple eyes, tanned skin and chin length black hair gelled into a sort of leftwards slant. She wore some assortment of dark clothing, the details of which were difficult to discern: the only source of light was a small bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling.

Joanna was reading a newspaper she had acquired from a little niche marketplace. One could not imagine it being easy to read the paper's print at such a low level of brightness. However, she seemed to manage comfortably.

A loud whine of pain emanated from the man, prompting the room's female resident to lower her reading material, revealing the upper half of her face to the offender. "Shut up! I'm tryin' to read my headlines." A second, quieter groan was heard. "Better." She raised the item once again and turned to the next page, producing a satisfying crinkle of paper. "Oooh." She announced with feigned interest. "This's an interesting story: 'Ambassador Pulam's close brother Era dies after tragic heart attack'. You wouldn't happen to have anything to say on that matter would you?"

Still in apparent agony the man responded "Ahhhh, piss off you glowy eyed bitch!"

Joanna folder her paper over and dropped it at her side before crossing her arms. "It's funny, I always get called a bitch in these sorts of exchanges, makes me feel almost unwelcome."

The only sound in the room was that of the man's strained and ragged breathing.

"Do you know what 'bitch' means?" She paused momentarily, hearing no response. "Hmm. It means female canine. Now us canines like bones don't we? So why don't you throw me one or two on the topic of our sangheilian friend's death."

A longer pause occurred, preceding an exclamation by the man. "Ahh ohh ohhhhhh!" He was beginning to writhe against his constraints though he still held his tongue (metaphorically speaking of course as his hands were bound).

"Suit yourself." Joanna looked around her, purple streaks following her movements as she did. She noted the pervasive shadow she and the room's corners were engulfed in. "Bit dreary in 'ere innit? Do you know what, I think I might bring down some flood lights, set 'em up facing inwards. Could play some heavy metal too, lighten the mood a tad. Should keep you busy till morning." Joanna looked upwards in a contemplative manner. "Yeah, I'll see yah tomorrow then." The tall woman picked up her paper and stood to leave. A motion that was interrupted as the man cracked.

"Ohhh good God damn it! I'll spill everything just take off this fucking mask!"

Joanna's countenance switched from deliberately uncaring to default neutral. She lowered her reading material to her chair before walking slowly around the table, silhouette following her as she skirted the circle of light surrounding it. Placing a hand on either side of the mask, she pulled it off, tussled brown hair laden with sweat popping out as it was removed.

* * *

Half an hour later...

Joanna exited the interrogation room, paper in hand, via an electromagnetically locked door for which she conveniently had the ID implants to access. As she stepped into the light once more, the details of her outfittings were significantly more acute. A black, collared fleece ran from just underneath her hair line to an inch or two underneath her waistline. Here, it overlapped onto similarly dark jogging bottoms which, in turn, flowed over her steel toed engineer boots to end just above her ankles. Said boots were littered with buckles and protected her body until about halfway up her shins where they cut off.

After the portal behind her closed, her boots flexed, joggers ruffled and fleece scratched, to accompany the movement of her hand over her hair and her shifting of facial expression from default neutral to bemused distressed. Joanna began rubbing the back of her neck to work out any kinks, frowning all the while. _I wish there was someone else here better than me at this part of the job..._ Her raptness maintained and her rubbing stopped as she stared into space for a further five or more seconds.

Then, in a single instant, her arm returned to her side and she switched from bemused distressed right back to default neutral. Thoughts unreadable, feelings untellable. Turning to the room's second resident, she stated "Good work on the death mask's pain modulation, Derek. I'm gonna get a tea, 'n share what we found with the Ambassador."

"Yes mam."

_Characterless as always._ a subconscious, passing thought. Joanna departed at a paced walk, passing through an egress and into a well lit, plain-concrete hallway that gently sloped upwards. Each of her steps produced a sharp, hollow rap upon impact with the floor that resonated throughout the claustrophobic space. The raps proceeded further and further from the interrogation rooms, becoming quieter and quieter to those still within them. They stopped entirely once the tall woman reached the room of elevators at the end of the passage.

She typed in a command to a control panel set in a recess within the wall, requesting it to send down one elevator. It was by a startling once in a lifetime coincidence that all eight elevators were currently taking passengers on the top floor... 65 floors up from her current location. One could see Joanna assimilating and processing that information as she squinted at the panel in disbelief.

Her newspaper hit the floor with a ruffle, sheets separating from each other. "No. No, no. This just doesn't happen. Never in the history of man has that happened! Never in the history of man should that bloody happen!" Frustration was building as Joanna's face quivered and fists clenched. It burst forth when she slammed her right arm down on the panel. "Fuck you. Just fuck you you digital piece of overconvoluted shit. You twat!" Her left hand clamped down on the recess's edge, while her other pointed towards the inanimate object with thumb and index finger sticking out and all other fingers digging into her palm, an explanatory motion. "Don't you fuckin' come in 'ere again, fuckin' tellin' me all the fuckin' elevators on the top fuckin' floor. You fuckin' prat!"

Tirade ending, she attempted to appeal to the panel's better conscience. "Look. I'm sorry. I'm sorry alright! Just... Just please, I won't hit you again. I won't swear at you again I promise. But please. Work with me baby, work with me."

That attempt failing she simply broke into tears. "Ohhh, fuck it..." She clumsily slumped her forearm onto a buttonless area of the interface before even more clumsily smashing her head into the appendage. Genuine sobs racked her body repeatedly and muffled sniffles could be heard from beneath her spread of hair.

At some point she realised that crying about the problem was not progressing her past the issue so she soon sobered, stating to herself "Do you know what, ok. It's gonna get down here eventually. After it does, I'll get a nice warm cuppa and I'll sit down for a bit. I'll just... I'll just wait."

Having spent one minute in each of the five stages of grief, Chief Joannan only had to spend another three minutes waiting for an elevator. Upon arrival, four soldiers alit from it, escorting a bald prisoner who was both hand cuffed and shackled all at once. "You look a little worse for wear sweetheart. Heh heh heh." The prisoner spoke with an accent as thick as smoke and probably brought on by a long long history of smoking, and likely alcohol as well.

"You don't look too well yourself love. May I?" The question was directed towards the man's lead escort.

"Sure."

Without hesitation, Joanna stepped up close to the prisoner and threw her elbow into his nose, breaking it instantly and drawing a loud grunt from him. She then made a flourish in the direction of the interrogation rooms "Ladies."

The four guards returned "Mam." while the assaulted individual among them had slumped slightly, enjoying the taste of the blood from within his own nose.

* * *

"Further questioning revealed the names of two associates of the killer, 'Little Steve' and 'Dave', as well as the location of the flat they were operating from." Joanna had composed herself to a respectable degree, unruffled her clothing and once again assumed parade rest before contacting the Ambassador. She spoke slightly slower than normal, keeping her tone formal.

"So he did hold knowledge of one of the organisation's cells. How was it that he managed to conceal this information yesterday?" The sangheili's register had not differed by any significant amount from the evening before; however, it was slightly less saturated with frustration. He was sat in his computer chair as he was previously and this time around he had one leg lying across the other and one elbow firmly placed on the arm rest, that extremity's attached hand propping up his head.

"It was probably because the choice of words in my questioning was too specific. Apparently, Big Ben's Boys refer to cells as 'crews'. So when asked if he knew about any cells, he could truthfully say no."

"Reasonable I suppose. Back to these two men, did the detestable individual not provide last names for them?"

"He said it is a rule among the gang not to share last names. Logical, also suggests that they are in many ways quite organised." Joanna tilted her head in a "Got to give them credit" motion.

"Indeed. I presume you are going to attempt to apprehend these individuals at the flat nonetheless."

"If their intelligence is more than second rate then they probably aren't there anymore. Me and a team will drop by anyway though, inconspicuously, and see what we find."

"Of course." The ambassador was about to bid her farewell but was given pause as he looked her over. He lowered the arm that was supporting his head and straightened up a little. "Is such informal wear typical of members of your organisation?"

Joanna looked down at herself before return her gaze to her appraiser. "No, I'm an atypical individual. I understand that wearing a suit inspires assurance in yourself both to you and those around you. But I'm good at what I do. I've proven that enough times and I don't need to wear a suit to qualify it."

"Very self-aware of you." Pulam delayed for a moment. "It proposes a question though. Why were you wearing a suit when last we spoke?"

"My associate, Agent Johnson, forced me too," The sangheili crossed his arms while Joanna continued "and since we had several hours to prepare for our talk with you I did what he said." Her arms had fallen from behind her back to her sides as she shrugged. "However, if I'm going to be updating you frequently then it would be faster if I didn't need to put a suit on."

"Your at attention stance has fallen."

Joanna started slightly and returned her arms to their linked position behind her. "Sorry sir."

"Though I do not believe I approve of your lack of uniform you have made yourself clear. I'll consider it to be special case."

"Thank you sir."

"Although you could do worse than find a less bland outfit."

"My choice of clothing is for me to decide and others to observe. So long as I'm not prancing about like some cheap whore I think that's something everyone can respect."

"Hmmm, well said. Until next time Chief."

"Ambassador." She nodded her head politely before the comms link was severed.

"I like that human."

* * *

Cafés and bars (or pubs as the Brits call them) are the two primary meeting places between members of Big Ben's Boys, so long as nothing too important is to be discussed. Many such meetings are likely occurring at the present moment but one in particular is taking place in a pub named "The Tight Wallet" which was, coincidentally, owned by a firm supporter of the gang. Its interior lighting was low key and held a rich orange tint to it, lending to the place a warm and inviting ambience.

For understandable reasons, the conference was situated in an especially dark and visually obscured corner of the bar. One participant was lent back and shadowed enough as to be difficult to distinguish, to his right stood an empty wine glass and to his left an uncorked bottle of wine.

The other was sat opposite him in the light and could be identified as Little Steve, in his hand was a three quarters full pint glass with some form of frothy, golden liquor within it.

"Shouldn't Dave be here." The shadowed man's voice was deep and sonorous though it was fairly unaccented. It hinted towards a firm intelligence and self-assured demeanor.

"Nah, that boy doesn't have the IQ to understand stuff we say the first time round. It'll be faster if I just brief 'im later." Little Steve's voice was, conversely, higher pitched and faster talking. He started downing some of his pint once he had finished speaking.

"And what about the new guy with the fancy facial fuzz, Daws I think his name was."

The shorter man lowered his drink to the table and wiped his mouth on a sleeve. "Would you trust a guy with a moustache only one day after meeting him?"

"No I suppose not. Anyway Steve, how are you finding the new place?"

"It's quaint. Gotta nice view, comfy chairs. But a bit spartan. Lookin' round your room and feeling like your in an 18th century utility shack yunno."

Shadow man had been pouring wine into his glass as Steve spoke, it was now full once again. "So long as it does the job. I'm not gonna bust the boys' budget on a hotel suite with a king size am I?"

"Well yah fuckin' asked didn't yah boss, you stingy bastard."

The boss brought his glass into the shadow and gulped down some of its contents before responding. "You're calling me stingy, if you were in my position the boys would be eating dog food and showering in cold water."

"And they'd fuckin' enjoy it too."

"There's that dynamism we've all come to know and love." The glass reappeared and was settled onto the table. "Now, more importantly than moving in, how did you get on moving out?"

"Ah yeah. We cleared the place out properly: all the NDA 'll find if they search it is dusty floor boards and rusty pipes."

"Good good." The man paused. "Have you heard anything that suggests that the suits will indeed search the place?"

"Well, our martyr had a bit of difficulty martyring himself. He lost 'is nerve... Botched it up, shooting 'imself in the chin. Now the NDA has 'im, and they ain't gonna be drinkin' Fosters and playing poker together." Steve tilted his pint a tad for emphasis, the golden liquid swaying from side to side for a bit.

"Poor bastard. There's no way he's holding out on those guys. They hold in reserve some satanic shit for breaking people."

"That's why he shoulda shot himself innit? It'd save us all trouble."

"You can't be too harsh on him. Nature is abhorrent to suicide after all. So, though he failed that part of his mission, he was working against the odds, and we prepared accordingly for if the odds defeated him."

"Yeah I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am, loyal side kick."

"I'll kick your side in a minute."

"Heh heh."

"Oh yeah, and I placed that invisible camera you gave me in the old flat so I'll keep you updated on the if, what, how and when of any NDA break-ins."

"Good. How was your birthday by the way."

"Shitter than last year's and hopefully shitter than next's."

"That's the way to look at it. Now, a toast to my good friend Little Steve, me and the boys." The man leaned forwards into view revealing brown eyes, a dark tan trench coat, a close shaven head of black hair and similar stubble.

"To me, my good friend Big Ben and the boys." Little Steve raised his fluid container in the air and leaned forward as well. Pint glass met wine glass halfway and a satisfying clink resounded from the contact point.


	3. 8 Empty Rooms, 1 Ball and 2 Homicides

"Stache! Dave! Get in 'ere!" Several hours had passed since Little Steve's meeting with Big Ben, the day having transitioned to afternoon. During those hours, the cynical, vertically challenged man had been closely observing his wide screened laptop for any activity from his old flat. Its door had just been unlocked and pushed open, a cone of light from the outside hallway expanding into the room to reveal little more than additional doors and plain wooden floorboards. _Bastards musta hacked the lock, or overridden it. Probably overridden it... Bastards. _Steve sat on the couch, laptop set on the coffee table, as he awaited the entry of his associates.

Dave was the first to arrive, bursting through the door to the sitting room after having sprinted in from his quarters. "Yes boss?"

"Sit down." Little Steve indicated the spot next to him.

"Yes boss." Dave did as told.

Several more seconds passed without any apparent activity from the flat's other occupant. "Stache!" Pause. "Stache!" The short tempered man was almost apoplectic with rage. "Moustache man! Pull your thumb out of your arse and get it in here!"

Said man burst into the room as Dave did but with anger rather than haste. "My name is Daws." He spoke in a slightly gruff but cultured English accent.

"Your name is whatever I God damn tell you it is now sit down before I get physical!"

Daws complied out of necessity although he was evidently displeased with doing so. He took his place on the other side of Little Steve from Dave.

"Now gents, observe."

All attention focused back onto the laptop screen, it could now be seen that eight NDA troopers carrying shotguns, assault rifles and various sidearms had entered and were preparing to search the rooms. They were dressed in all black attire with numerous elliptical segments of pliable under-armour lining the arms, legs, chest and back, dark grey rings surrounding each piece. Heavy metal plates of markedly unpliable over-armour were placed along the front and rear of all extremities along with two especially large plates on both sides of the torso. Even more intimidating was the striking, face-hugging half mask half helmet composite situated on their heads with built in, blacked out goggles covering the eyes.

"Fuck me, they come ready for a fuckin' fight don't they?"

"Yes dey do." Dave answered the rhetorical question in his usual unintelligible drawl.

Little Steve just glanced up at him before returning his gaze to the screen. The soldiers had produced three pairs, each approaching one of the room's doors. One member of the pair would open the door and the other would have a cursory look around before entering first, followed by his partner's gun, then followed by his partner. The remaining men simply stood looking around the room, weapons up, ready to provide assistance to any pair that may need it.

Despite the third person perspective, various things were eliciting a sense of nostalgia in Little Steve such as the creak of certain floorboards as they were stepped on and the whine of unoiled hinges as the door to the bedrooms was opened. These homy remembrances sent the man into the zone, phasing him out.

Upon Daws shaking him slightly, he returned to reality "Look." The moustache bearer pointed at one of two troopers that had just entered flat holding assault rifles. "That looks like the squad leader."

"Wow. He's a big fuckin' fella." It was true, the leader must have been around six and a half feet tall.

"Mmm."

They listened as the soldiers in various rooms called back "Clear." When the last group reported as such, the four occupants of the front room lowered their weapons and the other six squad members returned there, waiting by their respective doors. Each pair stated what they had found.

"There are three bedrooms through this door." The man stood beside the portal on the right of the room. "They cleaned the place out thoroughly, there's not even any furniture left. You can see dust patterns and drag marks where they've moved it. One room wasn't entirely empty though, it contained a pornography magazine with 'Courtesy of the boys.' written on the front. I believe it was a joke." None of the soldiers were laughing.

Little Steve commented "More like courtesy of me huh gentlemen."

Another pair continued, this one standing by the opening opposite the flat door. "This leads into a sitting room and kitchen. Again, no furniture or appliances remaining other than the kitchen sink, which is anomalously covered in what looks like acid burn marks."

The third and final pair standing next to the door on the room's left took over from here. "The bathroom didn't have much to take out in the first place but there are no utensils or equipment left in there. The sink, bath tub and toilet are all also covered in acidic burn marks. The space notably stank of some kind of chemical."

"We could smell that too."

"Us as well." spoken by the other pairs.

The squad leader sniffed the air a few times before finally speaking "Yeah the whole place smells of chemicals." While rough, the voice was distinctly feminine.

"Holy shit that's a lady?" Little Steve was dumbstruck, Daws' eyes were slightly wider than before and Dave looked confused, but on that point, Dave always looked confused.

"It's familiar, think it's a gas used to purge finger prints and other organic evidence. They must've used acid to do the same to places the gas couldn't reach, like the sinks and piping. Shit. They didn't do a half arsed job did they?"

"Damn she's huge! I'd probably die if she fell on me." Steve looked considerate for a moment before adding "Fat bitch."

At this, Daws stated "I know your manner is direly uncultivated but must you speak of women in such a way?"

The short man's attention was now solely on the moustached man. "What the fuck you talking about?"

"It's discomforting for me when you say that word."

"What? 'Bitch'?" In his curiosity, Little Steve's tone had become quicker and higher pitched.

Daws cringed slightly. "Yes."

"Why?"

"I grew up in a household of women. It's engendered in me to despise that word."

A questioning frown spread across the shorter of the two's face before he shook his head and turned back to the laptop, muttering "Weirdo." under his breath.

During the boys' interlocution Joanna had ordered her men to swab what they could of the rooms anyway to see if any fingerprints had been overlooked. In addition to this, UV scanners were used to try and detect bodily fluids and other organic byproducts. Meanwhile the woman herself had entered a one on one over the comms in her helmet. "Despite all the self-deprecating monikers these guys clearly know what they're doing. They're serious." She paused for a moment, presumably while receiving a reply from the person on the other end. "We're in the process now but it doesn't look like we'll find anything." A further delay occurred, the sound of boot steps and the groan of floor boards being a constant feature in the flat. "Well we've looked at the plans of the building and everything here seems to match up. The place is so bare too. We'd be able to see any modifications to the architecture. So no spinning book cases or secret passages I'm afraid." She nodded her head a couple of times. "Cool, I'll speak to you later."

Little Steve chose this moment to speak up. "I do believe I would call this a success boys. Daws, get us a couple pints will ya?"

The man was all too happy to carry out this action. Upon his return he heavily sat down on the couch with three beer cans. He passed two to Little Steve who passed one to Dave. Each can was metallic black with white writing and various blue streaks surrounding a golden logo with the word "Denny's" diagonally aligned in bold print across it. Each produced a quiet decompression as the three men cracked them open in sync, and each released a small quantity of froth post-opening.

Little Steve raised his drink in the air. "To a fuckin' flawless shiftin' of house, and may our associate in the NDA's basement not tell them anymore shit about us."

"I couldn't a said it meself." Dave of course.

Everyone took a swig and Steve exhaled contently before responding. "Of course not. Oh and Daws, I won't say 'bitch' around you again."

"Cheers."

"Everybody gets one. Dave's is that I don't talk about his intelligence while he's in the room."

"Oi, you said about my... About my... Smarts."

"I didn't 'said' about nothin', I talked about talking about your smarts."

"You what?"

"Just drink your beer and be happy that we're not gonna get shot and killed."

"Yes boss." He took a large gulp from his drink.

Steve spoke quietly to himself. "Thank fuck he's a brain surgeon with firearms. Fuck me."

* * *

"Agent Johnson." Our favourite sangheilian diplomat was lent back in his chair, long blue scaled legs sticking out forwards and similarly constructed arms stretched out and resting on them.

"Ambassador Pulam." Johnson found himself standing before the sangheilian ambassador, if in visual form only. As always, he was wearing a smart black suit with a red tie and white shirt, hardly unique for someone in his profession. As always, he could have had a rigid steel rod in place of his spine and his hands, for all we know, could be cuffed behind his back.

"What is it that you wish to discuss?"

"Chief Joannan's raid operation."

"Ah yes, were you able to retrieve any individuals there?" The NDA operative's voice was so tonelessly formal that the ambassador could not glean from it whether the op was a success or failure.

"We were not. All that she found there was dusty floorboards, rusty pipes and acid bathed plumbing."

"Acid bathed plumbing?" Pulam raised an eyebrow ridge in question.

"The gang members seemed to have used gas to remove finger prints from the rooms and acid to remove biological evidence from the sinks, toilets, baths, et cetera."

"So they're not as foolish and unprofessional as they make themselves sound."

"It would seem so."

The ambassador thought for a moment, his face creasing into a frown. "So you found absolutely nothing to help catch these men or to indicate anything they might do next."

"Unfortunately not."

"That is a shame." Hand running over his head, mandibles flapping with agitation and fingers tapping on the back of his neck, Pulam asked one final question "Was there anything else?"

"As of yet... No."

"Right," his arm returned to his lap, "well if you'll excuse me there is a formal event to celebrate my brother's replacement starting the job which I must prepare for. What do you humans call one of these things? A ball? I still fail to comprehend the correlation between a hall full of partially inebriated upper class individuals laughing at poor jokes and dancing to pretentious music, and a spherical object commonly kicked or thrown as part of a sport."

The agent tilted his head to the side, one of his first motions throughout the whole exchange. "I honestly cannot see the similarity either."

"Mmm. Oh," the ambassador perked up a tad, "and I looked at the guest list and noticed that you would be attending."

"Yes I received an invitation to the event. But I won't be attending this evening, there is a lot of work I need to be doing."

Pulam made a slow upwards gesture with one of his arms. "I am aware that the investigation of my brother's murder is important business but you have no leads, and even if you did then there are others less significant than yourself who could follow them up. So consider it my order that you must be there."

"Ambassador?"

"If I don't see you at this ball then I will start an interspecies incident then and there."

Johnson nodded his head politely. "Ambassador."

"And bring Joanna with you as well. I'll add her to the guest list."

Agent Johnathan Johnson had been partial to numerous conferences with officials, politicians and high ups alike. However, this was the first time he had truly lost his composure during one. His hands were shaken free of their cuffs, dropping to his sides while the steel rod in his back was melted to the point of flexibility once again. And so he stood, shoulders slumped, posture down and mouth hanging open. "What?" was all he managed to force out.

The sangheili re-clarified. "Tell your associate Joanna that if she doesn't attend then there will be an interspecies incident." The sangheili paused, looking up momentarily before focusing back on Johnson. "Let her know that she may wear her normal attire as well."

"But... But..." Johnson took a deep, calming breath and reimplemented his stately posture; although his arms were still by his sides. "While I hold a massive amount of respect for my colleague her 'normal attire' makes her look like a homeless person fresh off the streets. And besides, she doesn't do aristocrats and pretentious music."

"Well I suppose it is a good thing neither you nor she has any say in the matter then. Goodbye Agent Johnson." Pulam shut down the communication, preventing any form of rebuttal.

* * *

Joanna was still waiting for her men to finish checking for evidence when she heard muffled shouting from the flat opposite. She looked towards the sound source, assault rifle raising to eye level. Listening closely she could make out a few words and phrases.

"Don't ... fuckin' hit me again!"

"... the gun down ... the fucking gun down!"

"... dog! ... gonna fuckin' end you."

Then came the unmistakeable sound of a gun shot, resounding through the environment and no doubt heard from quite a way away. It drew the attention of two other soldiers in the front room who both dropped their swabs. One removed a weapon similar to Joanna's. The other removed a shotgun. Both braced themselves on either side of the door while Joanna crouched just back from the doorway with rifle borne on the opposite flat's entrance.

A few tense seconds passed in silence before a man in boxers and a grey tank top burst out from the flat, he paused upon seeing the three soldiers and one of those universally recognised awkward moments occurred as they stared at one another. However, the moment was broken as three bullets erupted from the man's torso accompanied by three fleshy thumps and puffs of blood. He slumped forward, stone dead, to reveal a woman wearing a baggy man's shirt and likewise shorts. The pistol she held was raised from the dead man and aimed at Joanna as she squeezed off three more shots, preceding two loud bangs and an even louder boom as the woman was shot twice in the head and blasted by a shotgun in the chest.

Joanna's chest plate and helmet had saved her from the bullet impacts, each projectile simply deflecting off or splintering into smaller pieces.

The deceased woman's clothing and skin did not have the same ballistic properties as these armour features, explaining why she now lay four feet back from where she had stood with blood pooling all around her.

The NDA troopers lowered their weapons, the rest of the squad now massing in the room having heard the gun fire. Joanna leaned to her right and whispered into her shotgun wielding friend's ear "Yohannes, wipe your finger prints off of that shotgun with a cloth, and place it in the dead man's arms. Then let's get the fuck out of here."

The man got to work with this instruction, removing a wipe from somewhere on his body.

In the mean time, Joanna spoke to the rest of the squad. "You guys got your swabs?"

Several of them spoke. "Yes mam."

"And taken your UVs?"

The rest of them spoke. "Yes mam."

"So shall we depart back to the van then?"

All of them spoke. "Yes mam."

Joanna leading the way, each of the group jogged out of the front room in single file, passing a shadow over the male corpse and producing a scuff of boots on wood with every step. The last man out closed the flat door with a quiet thump and click.

Yohannes had turned the body over slightly, clamping the man's hands onto the shotgun and posing him to make it look like he'd fallen down and shot the woman with his last breaths. Then the scuff of his boots sounded as he sprinted after the rest of the group.


	4. Action Repercussions, Party Obligations

-AN

Greetings dear readers. I've had a flurry of chapter updates recently but that's likely about to slow down due to life. I'll still update when I can though. Also, this is the longest chapter I've ever written for something at over 3300 words which is quite a milestone for me. Thank you to all those that have read, reviewed and enjoyed this story. Now read, review and enjoy!

* * *

"So yeah, most of the operation went alright. Unfortunately things turned a little cock shaped near the end." Joanna, along with her team, was sitting in the back of an armored van, the grinding of wheels against the road an almost constant feature of the journey. Her helmet was off and a hand was pressed against her forehead while its associate elbow rested against her knee.

The van's interior was dark and gloomy with one way mirrors for windows. Its destination was NDA headquarters.

"How so?" Johnson's voice rang clearly over Joanna's headset.

"There was a random shootin' next door. Some dude got killed then the lady that killed 'im opened fire on me and the team."

"Are you hurt?"

"No, this armour is shit serious." Joanna removed her hand from her face and lent back. The sound of wheel friction became louder before cutting off altogether as the van came to a stop at some traffic lights.

"Right. So presumably you returned fire?"

"Yeah... We gunned her down with rifles and a shotgun."

"No way to make it look like a suicide then?"

"Nope. Instead we planted the shotgun on the dead guy to make it look like he returned fire." The woman shrugged her shoulders as if the other member of the conversation was there in front of her. "But you're gonna to have to make a call to the police. Tell 'em not to disclose any evidence from the scene that suggests anyone was there other than the two deceased."

Johnson exhaled gruffly on the other end of the line before responding "I hate this part of the job." The van engine rose in volume and the wheels resumed turning as the van started moving again.

"Well I hate parts of my job too. You gotta push through it though."

"That's the thing that's annoying. But you are right, and what's done is done. Oh, and come see me after you get out of that armour. I have a mission for you."

"Sounds awfully sinister."

"Just be there."

"I will. See you later."

"Bye."

Joanna pushed a button on her head set, breaking the comms link. She then used the headset to contact the driver. "How much longer?"

He responded "Around three quarters of an hour if the traffic's ok."

"God damn it." She cut the link again before placing her elbows on her thighs and linking her hands together, leaning forward. "Soooooo... Anyone bring that porn mag with them by any chance?"

Her whole squad turned to look at her, which would have been disconcerting to most individuals as they still wore their face concealing helmets.

"Heh heh, suppose that's a no then."

* * *

"Right, I'm here John. What's this mission you were talking about?"

* * *

Five minutes later...

Ambassador Pulam was reading through pages on a glowing blue data pad when a beeping sound indicated an active communications request. He pressed a button on his wrist computer, coloured pixels flooding across the comms screen to show an image of an exasperated Joanna with her hands gesturing forward in a pleading motion.

"Why?" She questioned, voice disbelieving.

"Because you are a fascinating individual." The sangheili lowered his pad down before crossing his arms. "Plus, I believe it will be amusing to watch you interacting with the droves of self-obsessed drones that compose my union and your government. It would do them some good speaking to a real person rather than a calculated facade as is normally the case."

"Do you mind if I ask a few questions?" Joanna's tone had calmed somewhat and her back had straightened up.

"As many as you wish."

"What makes me fascinating?"

"That you have claimed a high up position in such a prestigious organisation as the NDA while coming to work wearing a tramp's clothing, as your associate Johnson put it," Joanna tutted and shook her head, "and that you have retained such a position while speaking like a gangster. I'd also like to hear the story of how you came to acquire artificial eyes."

The woman tightened her lips together and nodded slightly, not entirely sure what to make of Pulam's answer.

"Your next question?" The Ambassador cocked his head to the side.

"What good is it throwing me into a group of people you clearly feel disenchanted with?"

"There are few things more satisfying than watching as someone utterly full of themself pouts and walks away after failing to impress another individual with false pretenses. My brother was similarly brazen to you." Pulam's tone became nostalgic and he began talking to himself rather than Joanna. "He would look past what people pretended to be and see what they were, and if what he saw was nastiness then he would make a mockery of the person." He let out a mirthless chuckle. "It is honestly surprising it's taken this long for him to be assassinated."

Joanna retained a respectful silence, as what would you say in this position?

The sangheili's attention focused back onto the woman and his voice returned to normal. "Agent Johnson mentioned that you don't 'do aristocrats'. I would think that the reason for this is that you do not enjoy emplacing your own pretenses and putting them across to other people. So I suggest that you just be yourself, if only for this one evening."

"Uhh, yes Ambassador."

"Also, are you well?"

"Excuse me?"

"Agent Johnson mentioned that you were shot."

"Oh yeah, I'm fine. I was wearing heavy armour at the time."

"Good. I shall speak to you later."

"See you later."

The screen turned black within a few moments. Pulam took a deep breath before releasing it as a sigh/cough. He seemed intent to just think for a short while, gaze staring far into the distance beyond the confines of his office. Eventually his contemplations reached their natural conclusions and he stood up, walking over to the back of his office. He pressed a button set into the wall. This preceded the opening out of a fully stocked wardrobe. _Finally I may be able to get out of these robes._ A sangheilian smirk played across his features.

* * *

That evening...

Agent Johnson was dressed in a grey pinstripe suit with trousers of the same pattern, material and colouration, while he was driven to the ball in the back of an agency car. Juxtaposed to him was Raid Operations Chief Joannan in the adjacent seat, wearing her regular clothing. They both had their arms crossed and faces set forwards.

"Did the Ambassador tell you why he added you to the guest list?" The clean shaven man spoke.

"Yeah. But the real reason was only implied. I think it's because I remind 'im of 'is brother." The violet eyed woman responded.

"An aged sangheilian male?" He couldn't help himself.

"Laugh it up Johnson. He said his brother was 'similarly brazen' to me."

"I had several interactions with Era during his lifetime. I can see why you remind the Ambassador of him."

"Hmm."

They sat in a comfortable verbal silence for awhile, an occasional shake of the vehicle rattling them as it passed over a bump and that entrancing drone of driving noise constantly... Droning.

Eventually Joanna frowned and looked over at her partner. "Did you really tell Pulam that I look like a tramp in my outfit?"

"Would you really tell me that you don't?" The man questioned without returning her gaze.

Joanna's head turned back forward. "No."

* * *

"Right, well. This is it. Do you want me to find the new liaison and introduce you or shall I let you find your own way around?"

"I'll go my own way. There's gotta be a booze stall somewhere in here."

"If there is one, you'll find it. But if you do want to meet the new legate just look for where the crowd's thickest."

"Will do."

Johnson then left, seeming to know exactly where he wanted to go.

Joanna just stood for a moment, immersed in the sound of classical music and trivial conversation. She performed a quick visual recce that identified the "booze stall" as a small wine bar at the opposite end of the room. After a slight delay she walked in a beeline towards it. Rich, bright, yellow light passed over her and orange, red, patterned carpeting passed under her as she did. One thing she noticed as her two violet orbs swept over the scene was that sangheili were present at the party in equal proportion to humans. It was almost surreal to see the two races mingling as such, the bulky aliens of course standing a couple of feet taller than their average human counterparts.

Some people took a double take upon seeing her or stared at her for longer than was necessary but she otherwise reached the wine stand without issue, leaning forward on the mahogany counter. She was about to ask the server for a drink when a short man wearing an exquisite white suit strode to the spot beside her and cut in "A glass of chardonnay will you?"

Joanna turned her head sideways to look at the man.

The waiter enthusiastically responded "Yes sir.", bending down to fetch a glass and wine bottle.

Though Joanna's head was still facing the man, her eyes had refocused on the server. He notably refused to make eye contact with her and the white suited individual did not even look in her direction.

When he was finished pouring the champagne the waiter handed the glass to his client and hid the bottle away again. Joanna could not help but notice that the bottle was still at least half full.

Just as he came, the man in the fancy suit left without a word. The woman whom he had butted in front of stared behind her shoulder at his receding form before turning forward once again. She stated plainly "A glass of chardonnay please."

Without any response the man bent down and removed a full, unopened bottle of wine. He cracked off the cork and poured a new glass before setting it down on the counter in front of him. Joanna's eyes glanced down at it then back up at him. They held his gaze as she lifted the glass up with her left hand and sipped out some of the fluid. She set the glass back down, focus unwavering, and returned her hand to its position on the counter. "This wine is corked."

"Oh I'm sorry." To untrained ears this statement may have sounded legitimate. However, to Joanna's expert hearing facilities it sounded quite spurious. This time around the man used the same bottle that his previous patron had received his refreshment from.

Swilling around the contents of her new glass, Joanna stated "Unlike you, the waiter of all people that seems to think he's better than me, I actually earn significantly more than minimum wage. So which one of us is the fool? The woman with the money to buy a suit like yours who chooses not to for modesty? Or the man who spends three months salary on one to compensate for his below average penis size?" The server was blinking repeatedly and having great difficulty looking Joanna in the eyes. "Enjoy the dead end job your stuck in." She spoke cheerfully by way of goodbye. _Arsehole. That felt satisfying.  
_

* * *

In order to have quick access to refills, Joanna did not venture far from the stand. She lent against the wall to its right and nursed her wine from there. The hard stomached woman was on her third glass of wine when she was approached by a female sangheili. The physical differences between them and the males of their kind were much the same as the differences between the two human genders: they are smaller and slighter among other things. Though they still do not have hair and additionally have slightly larger eyes and slightly shorter mandibles.

This particular sangheilian woman made her appearance in an ostentatious dress and leaned against the wall next to Joanna, facing in her direction. Joanna had not noticed her approach, being consumed with some kind of deep thought, and so jumped slightly when she spoke.

"So, what brings you to this party?" The sangheili's voice carried a hint of seduction, and her whole manner seemed somewhat flirtatious.

Joanna stared at her guardedly. "Are you hittin' on me? Cause, lady, I'm not interested."

Upon hearing her voice the alien looked surprised and responded "You're a woman?"

In her frustration Joanna tutted and her pitch of voice raised slightly. "Don't the tits give me away toots?"

"Uhh sorry. Sorry. I see lots of men dressing like that. Sorry." The extra terrestrial quickly departed with embarrassment.

Insulted, the woman looked after the insulter before exclaiming simply "Bloody hell." She then spotted a sangheili in the distance that might have been the Ambassador. Joanna would admit that she had difficulty telling one from the other but it was worth investigating at least. Following this line of thought she casually headed in the alien's general direction. She noted as she went that her target, if it was indeed him, was holding a sangheilian woman at his side and talking to another male out of space visitor of a slightly lighter shade of blue than himself. The Ambassador also seemed to be wearing black special operations armour but without the helmet, perhaps indicating some kind of history in his people's military. The design of it was in fact the basis for the design of the NDA's own combat suit, with underarmour lining the extremities and heavy plates of metallic armour lain on top.

Once close, Joanna walked by the group through his line of sight. Her experiment worked as he called out to her "Joanna, there you are. May I borrow your company for a moment."

"Yeah sure." She finally walked directly towards her target. "Good to meet you in person, Ambassador." She gave him a firm shake of the hand, which was difficult considering he was a foot taller than her and his hands were scaled up to match. "Nice get up." Joanna commented, indicating his armour with her head. "Wish I'd thought of something like that."

"With the intimidating suits you wear people would probably flee the room screaming. Oh and you will have many a day to call me Ambassador in the future. For this evening address me by my name."

Joanna corrected herself with a polite nod. "Good to meet you in person, Rasa."

"As it is you. Now, Deyla, Dollas this is Raid Operations Chief Joanna Joannan, she works for the NDA. Joanna, this is my bond mate, or wife as you say, Deyla and the new liaison for interagency communication Dollas Morfum."

"Deyla, pleasure to meet you. You're a lucky woman."

Deyla was clad in a black neck down drape that concealed her whole body except for her head. It was joined up around the neck with both sides of it overlapping each other to cover up a split that ran down the rest of its length. From this parting extended her hand to give Joanna's a shake before she responded in a rich dulcet tone "Thank you. It is pleasure to meet you also. Rasa has mentioned you on a few occasions in the short time you've known each other."

"I can't imagine he had much good to say."

"Quite a lot actually." The woman smiled at this point.

Joanna returned the smile warmly before defaulting her features to a more neutral position and moving on to the liaison. "Dollas, good to meet you. Rasa's probably briefed you on the situation. I'm sure we'll be seeing lots of each other in the near future."

"Indeed. Good to meet you as well." Morfum wore standard sangheili politician's robes: blue, a pattern of red, interlocking rectangles with yellow borders running downwards along its centre.

"I see you are enjoying the wine."

The woman looked down at her half empty glass before taking a sip of it. "Quite a lot yes."

"And how are you enjoying the company?"

"It's... Interesting. Very engaging."

"I'm sure. By the by, Deyla was curious when I told her of your eye colouration."

Dollas added "I am too. How did it come to pass?"

"I'll give yer the summarised version without the gory details. An op went wrong, I caught a flash bang with my face, my eyes got fried and the doctor gave me a choice between organic duplicates of my old eyes or new electronic eyes."

"And you chose electronic?" Deyla.

"Yes."

"Why?" Rasa.

"Because it gives me infrared and UV modes of vision and zoom. Plus, they're pretty impervious."

"How impervious?" Dollas.

"Well you can touch one if you want. They're tough enough that I've been punched in the eye before and barely felt a thing."

"I believe I'll pass on touching one but that level of resilience is impressive."

"Yup."

Perhaps the casual banter might have continued if it were not for the announcement of a dance and the subsequent partnering up of individuals. Joanna realised that her only present company was the Ambassador and his mate, whom would no doubt be dancing together, and Dollas. In inward desperation she looked around her trying to locate Johnathan only to find that he was partnered with the woman who thought Joanna was a man. _Goodness gracious fuck in a basket._ She turned towards Dollas, eyes blinking a couple of times. "Do you wanna dance?"

* * *

"The NDA shot someone."

"The NDA shoots people all the time."

"But they don't shoot me ex next-door neighbours all the time."

There was a pause.

"Go on."

Little Steve was sat on his couch along with Daws and Dave, all holding Denny's beers once again, while Big Ben was leaning forward on the room's leather chair, also in possession of beer. The shortest of them all's bald head glinted slightly under the illumination of the low wattage lamp that stood beside the tallest of them all's chair. He continued as requested. "Near the end of the op, one of my old neighbour's shot 'er 'usband and then turned the gun on the NDA. So, as you'd guess, they blew 'er away."

"Presumably they tried to make it look like a suicide." Ben sipped on his alcoholic beverage.

"Nah they used shotguns, the bitch only had a pistol."

"Mmm. So they framed the person she killed."

"Yeah, planted the boom gun on the dead guy. Now they're probably gonna pull some strings so that investigators ignore any evidence of their presence, but o' course we got them on camera." A few gestures were made using Little Steve's own drink.

"Indeed."

"So Daws 'ere was thinkin' we wait till the police release their conclusion, that they both shot each other, then release parts of the cam footage that incriminate the NDA. Unless society is 100% fucked then it'll make people a little skeptical of the spooks."

"Yes, it would make it somewhat harder for them to operate without interference and suspicion. Which then makes it easier for us to operate without the same."

"Exactly." The man took a big swig of his liquor, his associates taking sips.

"Good thinking boys, and thanks for the update. Now, I've got places to be but I'll keep in touch." Big Ben stood up to leave and stated "Cheers for the beer." He then placed the item on the coffee table with a small tapping sound. Nodding to each present individual in turn he spoke their names "Steve, Daws, Dave."

As he began walking to the door they all turned their heads around and called back in unison "Big Ben."


	5. Chapter 5

-Chapter 5: A Series of Dismal Days

* * *

Little Steve was spending this casual Thursday afternoon sat on the sofa of his humble living room. Mild white light projected from the overcast sky shone through the windows and was absorbed by his black sweater and slacks. The short man's focus was directed towards the news broadcasts playing on his TV and his laptop rested quietly on the coffee table. Releasing a sigh, he retrieved a compact phone from his pocket and dialed in a number on its touch screen before raising the device to his ear. After a few moments, "Hello it's uh 'Dylan Monroe'. Is that you Beth?"

A short pause ensued and was subsequently broken as a feminine voice responded "I don't know who you expected to be answering my phone other than me but anyway. Alright 'Dylan' how are you doing you insidious little fucker?"

Steve, or "Dylan" as he said, lent forward and returned "Not too bad mate. Not too bad. Yourself?"

"Yeah I'm sparky, the recent homicides are pretty good for business. I hear you might have a little something something for me on that matter."

"I do. I'm sendin' it over now to air on the news this evenin'." The man propped the phone on his shoulder, fingers tapping away on his laptop's pressure keypad as he spoke. " 'Ave a dekko on it yourself then push the envelope."

"Sure thing. I can always rely on you guys for a good story."

"You know it baby."

"Screw you."

Little Steve finished typing and took hold of his mobile once again. "The love traveling over the line is palpable." His words were intentionally embroidered with sarcasm.

"They do say love and hate are almost indistinguishable when transmitted via radio wave. Now, I'm sure your gift will keep me occupied, see you around."

"Bye."

Beth hung up, leaving Steve in peaceful silence as before. He stretched, stowed away his phone and stood up. The passing of 10 minutes had him sitting down once more with a plate of salad on his lap and a can of beer on the coffee table. One might wonder if the table was ever actually used for coffee.

Moments later, Daws was sitting beside him, also wearing a sweater but with beige slacks rather than black ones. He placed a cup of tea onto the coffee table; although it wasn't coffee at least it was non-alcoholic. For a short while he simply stared at Steve, arms crossed, as the man picked at his salad. The sound of news continued playing across in the background. Daws eventually stated "You look dog shit tired."

The man finished chewing and swallowed before providing a simple response. "Long day."

"Doing what exactly?"

"Dealin' drugs and tradin' arms."

Daws furrowed his brow.

Little Steve noticed this and spoke "Money's gotta come from somewhere. Don't like it, but tis the truth."

"Indeed."

"How about you?"

"Been programming a video game."

The shorter man choked on some lettuce, spitting it out onto his plate while coughing hoarsely and wiping his mouth. "You fuckin' what?"

The moustached man turned his head forward and cocked it to the side in gesture. "My money's gotta come from somewhere."

"Indeed." stated with a tone that indicated a "touché" was in order. Steve looked at the man he called "Stache" for a few moments. _Good for 'im, certainly a creative way o' payin' the bills... Wish I could do somethin' like that._ He then turned forward also.

"So did you call your friend at the BBC?"

"Yeah, now I'm just waitin' to see the result. Good thinkin' on that by the way."

"Cheers. I'm glad I can bring something useful to the table."

"On top of the extra dosh." The man began picking up pieces of salad once more.

"That too."

A general sound of fumbling was heard as Dave entered into the sitting room from the corridor, having just arrived home. His trench coat waved from side to side slightly as he closed the door.

Daws turned his head back and questioned "So where have you been going all these afternoons?"

" 'Elpin' aroun' The Tight Wallet." He paused for a moment. "Gotta be useful inbetween jobs somehow, innit?"

Both Little Steve and Daws responded "Indeed."

* * *

Afternoon had passed to evening. Joanna was also at home sitting in her computer chair, feet upon desk, reading a book on her pad titled "The Irrepressible Bastard". The news was playing at low volume on her own laptop; although she was hardly focused on it, captivated by the content of her read. Her focus was broken momentarily by the quiet but jarring sound of gun shots from her computer. Her eyes flicked from the pad to the screen briefly before returning to the former. In a few moments they flicked back to the screen and she lowered the item in her hands as she recognised the visual presence of herself and her squad mates.

The pad was dropped carelessly on her desk, her legs hastily lowered to ground level and the laptop volume increased as the screen gained her full attention.

Joanna's own voice could be heard quietly but clearly. _"Yohannes, wipe your finger prints off of that shotgun with a cloth, and place it in the dead man's arms. Then let's get the fuck out of here."_

The woman sat in shock as she watched the video until its conclusion after the flat door was closed. She then appeared to stare through the screen, artificial eyes wavering from side to side slightly until she closed them, took a deep breath and exclaimed "You are fucking kidding me aren't you? You are abso-fucking-lutely kidding me aren't you! You diabolical, piece of shit-fucking excuse for a laptop, must surely be shitting me. Surely, because there is no fucking way I could possibly be framing a murder on publicly accessible television! Fuck!" Her profanity increased in volume as she spoke and resounded into the adjacent rooms.

The woman remained static, breathing heavily and continuing to watch the display. A short delay preceded the occurrence of a knock at the bedroom door. To which she reacted "Come in Leyo."

Upon this prompt, the portal in the wall to Joanna's right was opened to reveal a huge, eight and a half foot tall, brown scaled sangheili. "Hey. I heard your cursing. What's made you so pissed?" spoke his sonorous voice. The portal's size was considerable enough to accommodate the alien as he stepped into the room; though it could not have been much larger without breaching the confines set by the ceiling.

Joanna pressed mute on her laptop and turned to the individual identified as "Leyo". "That God damn op that went squiffy, those BBB bastards must've filmed it and now me and my team are fucking headline news."

Leyo walked to the woman's side in large strides and focused upon the silent pictures of the screen, resulting in Joanna unmuting them and rewinding the footage to the section in question. The broad shouldered sangheili observed it from start to finish without a word, near black eyes flickering back and forth across the moving images. "Damn Jo, you were caught unlucky there." he stated upon their conclusion before craning his neck to Joanna. His expression was concerned and his uncovered-head down as he continued "At the very least though, your face was not revealed nor was your name."

The woman quieted the laptop once more. "No but there'll still be an investigation by the high ups, and I don't need some pompous-arse investigator giving me grief over this sort of shit."

"Hmmm."

Joanna's earlier anger had been replaced by a feeling of dejection, her hand rubbing along her forehead and skimming the boundaries of her presently disorganised, spiky hair.

Leyo observed this for a few moments with a slightly upset frown set into his features. "Do you want me to give you one of my massages, Jo?"

"Fuck me that'd be perfect." The woman's hand left her forehead and her glowing eyes looked up at him. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all." Leyo continued somewhat sheepishly "Anything to see you buzz with energy again." Accompanying this was a tightening together of the mandibles that formed a smile.

Joanna gave an appreciative smile of her own, light emitting eyes locking with light consuming ones for a few moments. Then the tall but comparatively small woman lent forward in her chair, rested her forearms on her legs, joined her hands between them and closed her eyes.

The much larger sangheili stepped behind her chair and lay huge hands on top of her shoulders before beginning his work.

* * *

"Do you admit to the murder of one 'Louisa Griffiths'?"

"Yes, I admit to the self-defense killing of Louisa Griffiths."

"Hmm, and you admit to ordering one of your subordinates to plant his weapon on the woman's deceased husband 'Pete Griffiths'?"

"I do yes." There was a pause. Joanna had come into work the next day wearing a black suit, brown tie and white shirt in anticipation of the investigative questioning that she now found herself in. Her hair was gelled backwards and tucked behind her ears in a professional but ultimately nondescript style.

"Why did you do this?" The female investigator sat on the opposite side of a white metal table from Joanna.

"To make it look like they shot each other."

"So you are stating that you framed the husband for Mrs Griffiths' murder."

"Yes."

Another pause ensued. "What compelled you to frame him?"

Joanna lent forwards, mounting her elbows on the table. "Because witnesses and journalists would have otherwise gotten real suspicious about the deaths and wasted a massive amount of time trying to reveal some kind of big 'conspiracy'. When in reality there's no conspiracy. The lady shot someone, shot at me and my team and in self-defense we shot her back. We weren't there illegally: we had the land lord's permission to search any flats we needed to. And if my team was incriminated and money was flushed down the toilet taking us to court then there's no way we would fall foul. Since, as I shall once again restate, we acted in self-defense as the camera footage, and other evidence I'm sure has been made available to you, shows." The woman shifted back to a reclined position and crossed her arms. "So the short version is that I framed the husband 'cause I felt "compelled" to skip over all that BS."

The investigator was, to similar degrees, both impressed and offended by her shameless honesty. Not sure which emotion to express she simply defaulted to a neutral countenance and stated "Well... I believe that is enough for this conference. We may wish to speak to you again. Thank you for attending, Ms Joannan. You may leave now."

Ms Joannan stood up, pushed her chair in and, without preamble, departed from the room. Once outside with a door between her and her questioner, she shrugged her shoulders and spoke simply "Well this is all a colossal piss-take, where's me fackin' tea."

* * *

Ambassador Pulam was in his office at 1:17am... sitting. His chair was angled parallel to his desk, his arms lay on their arm rests, his posture was slumped. He wore a semi-grimace that crept up a single side of his face, leaving him with a sort of lopsided snarl.

In such a way he just sat, waiting.

_Why must my associates always come to me with bad news? First the human's secret, so-called, operations are revealed, and now Dollas wishes to impart on me some form or another of civil issue. Do my fellow patriots not feel it pertinent to inform me of good news? Surely not all in these depressing times is so contemptibly abhorrent, or maybe it is and I simply have yet to accustom myself to it. Hmm, I have much contemplation ahead._

A chime sounded from the Ambassador's desk. The worn out sangheili absent-mindedly pressed a button on the small, sleek wrist mounted computer he came adorned with at all times. In response, his office door opened, revealing the alien Dollas Morfum.

Pulam's eyes did not falter from their vacant state as he addressed the room's new occupant "Dollas, you bear ill tidings in this deplorable hour of the morning?"

"Unfortunately so, Ambassador." The taut official still stood in the doorway, arms joined military style behind his back. "May I step in?"

The higher ranking sangheili's grimace disappeared in favour of an expression of intense neutrality. He turned his head towards the inter-agency liaison, eyes flicking up and down his figure. "No. I would really rather sit here while you stand blocking my doorway and wholly breaching the confidentiality provided by my office – of course you may step in." Following the sarcastic nature of his words, the Ambassador casually redirected his gaze forwards in a dismissive manner.

Dollas retained a respectable silence as he compliantly entered the room.

"What is it that has gone wrong now?"

"Well, brother, I'll get straight to the point-"

Pulam took advantage of his position of superiority by interrupting with a derisive snort. He then continued himself "By stating that you'll get straight to the point you are delaying the introduction of the point you wish to state."

"My apologies." The liaison took a deep inhalation and dropped his arms from behind his back. "Our citizen tracking department has identified a sharp increase in the rate of sangheilian disappearances."

"Disappearances?" Dollas had captured the ambassador's attention more fully now: Pulam rotated his head to look at his informer, and straightened from his slumped position.

"Sangheili are present one day and are simply gone the next, without a trace to indicate where they have vanished to, what has happened to them and what is the cause. There have been too many in too short a time for it to simply be a coincidence."

A right hand was raised to a chin as the ambassador pondered the meal of information presented on a platter before him. Several seconds passed in thought before he pursued his usual line of enquiry for such matters. "What is being done in investigation of the issue?"

"Well, the men are researching each missing individual and attempting to find possible links between them, cross referencing I believe the humans call it. It seems that many of them have disappeared in groups, leaving behind few who knew the individuals, and thus leaving few sources of information for us to probe.

Waving his right hand in desperation, the ambassador questioned "Is there not more that we can do at this moment?"

"I fear not. As I said, there is insufficient evidence presently available as to what exactly is going on. We cannot draw any reasonable conclusions yet. The disappearances were only fully registered a few hours ago."

Exhaling a deep breath and giving his neck a roll the ambassador questioned "Tell me, what is the human phrase that references their testicles in such a way that forms a curse?" His head now focused back on Morfum, tilted to one side.

Dollas looked downwards momentarily prior to returning his gaze to Rasa. In a simple, innocently pronounced statement, he spoke "Bollocks?"

In a quick motion the ambassador snapped two of his four fingers and expressed a look of success. "Yes! Bollocks! I say bollocks to this situation and this awful time of day, and bollocks to these disappearances!" Invigorated by his unrestrained dissemination of frustration, Rasa spun on his computer chair until he faced towards the other sangheili. Leaning forward, elbows on knees and hands clasped together beneath his chin, he stated with a more energised tone than before "Dearest Dollas, inform the NDA on these findings in case they have not yet noticed the disappearances themselves." One of his eyebrow ridges raised in thought. "And tell Joanna that I wish to speak to her."

"You mean Agent Joannan, sir?"

"Yes, I do."

"It will be done, Ambassador." The liaison of lanky frame placed his right hand over his right heart and partook in a bow, politely excusing himself.

In response, Pulam gave a nod towards the official, permitting him to leave. Without further adieu, he did so, leaving the ambassador with no company but his own.

Again, he sat, staring after Dollas. Before shaking his head and leaning back. _I should swear more frequently, the release of tension is exhilarating._

* * *

"I fuckin' 'ate Sundays."

"Oh, you fucking 'ate' them did you, you greedy bastard."

"Don't take the piss outta me. You know what I mean."

"Yeah. I hate Sundays too."

The three boys – Steve, Dave and Daws – had meandered to The Tight Wallet with the intention of wasting away the late hours of the evening through the consumption of alcohol and biscuits. The internal decor was pleasant as usual, and the men were immersed in the environment's warm orange glow, as well as the sound of other low volume chats from the pub's various inhabitants.

Though internally pleasant, the exterior of the pub was much to the contrary: heavy rain bombarded the roof above and ground surrounding, producing a drone of twangy tips, taps and bops that was pervasive enough to be audible while indoors. The boys had passed through this dismal weather in order to reach the pub, and were removing their water saturated trench coats and hats as they sat down around a small white-cloth covered table.

"Oi Jobe, the usual yeah?" Little Steve's commanding yet unimposing voice called to the bartender.

"Yes governor."

"So what's on the agenda of conversation tonight?" again Little Steve.

"How about past encounters with the elusive opposite sex?"

"Daws, I'm surprised by your choice of topic. You're more of a scoundrel than you let on; although I guess your moustache gives away your deviosity."

"Is 'deviosity' a word?"

"It fuckin' is now."

An hour later...

"So I walks up to the lady, bearin' in mind we're next to a pub, and I just make a casual suggestion. Nothing sexual, nothing risqué. Just ask whether she wants to pop inside and get a drink. And the bitch turns 'round and pulls a gun on me!"

"What the fuck?"

"She pulls a gun on me, a magnum. Now," the short man's expression becomes placating and he extended a hand, palm flat, in submission, the other hand holding a Denny's, "I believe that allowing the good citizens of Britain to wield firearms is a good idea, but fuckin' 'ell? Pulling one out on random strangers is just plain irresponsible."

"She probably had anger issues, or a piss-poor day." Daws spoke his reasoning before nursing his brew of the cheap stuff.

"Yeah, but you know what? She was a tall bitch, with these awesome purple eyes, and I think that when a woman's taller than you it makes her feel all superior. Like she can fuck you about however she wants, i.e. by pulling a god damn gun on you."

A large gulp of liquor swilled down Dave's throat before he began "Yeah. Pullin's never been so fuckin' dangerous."

"I hear that."

It likely went unbeknownst to the three, as many people pass in and out of the building with frequency, but four somewhat conspicuous individuals had just entered. They were each tall, 7 and a half feet and up. They were each cloaked, dark black cloaks stricken with glistening droplets of water from the bleak outer conditions. They each had concealed faces, and three toed feet which produced quiet thumps accompanied by quiet creaks with every step they took across the burnished wooden floors.

The bartender was pouring a glass of whiskey for someone of hard stomach when he saw the sinister entities entering the pub in the corner of his vision. His head tilted upwards to take them in more fully.

Little Steve was just taking a bite into a dry biscuit he had bought, oblivious to the new entrants.

And then they paused. Time slowed as they raised their arms in a backwards motion and threw off their cloaks. A palpable array of water globules slid off of the garments as they flew behind the beings, shifting shape, refracting light with little sparkles and splattering with wet plops as they hit obstacles. The illumination of the room, now unobstructed from the visitors, shone across their bodies to reveal gleaming purplish ebony armour with rounded curves across the shoulders, elbows and other joints... and gleaming violet weapons that emanated hollow taps and sounds of fumbling as they were drawn from their holsters... and viciously sharp teeth aligned across four, face-mounted, mandibular appendages.

An ominous electronic whine was released as the weapons' safeties were switched off.

The bartender through away his glass and bottle and dived to the floor.

Little Steve noticed his comrades looking behind him in shock and turned himself, biscuit crumbling away half in his mouth and half out, to witness the sudden discharging of purple-blue bolts of plasma and sharpened, glowing needles from the sangheilis' weapons.

Screaming, shouting and crackles of burning energy quickly built up into a cacophony of raucous chaos. The four sangheili swept their fire across the various civilians in the room; some dived for cover, others pulled tables down in front of them, more took direct hits from the ferocious onslaught of gunfire, falling to the floor in pools of blood with grievous injuries marking their carcasses.

Steve stood up from his chair and leapt towards the solid wooden benches that composed the booths near the pub's outermost walls. He hit the ground hard, bruising his side and splitting the biscuit in his mouth into two. In relative safety – if with splinters of wood and shards of glass raining down around him – he removed his own concealed weapon from the back of his trousers beneath his sweater, a hammerhead magnum: named as such for the sideways protrusions on its sides that gave it a resemblance to the shark of the same name.

The gunfire was distracted from Steve's location by the room's other targets, to the misfortune of the gunmen. For very quickly, the middle-aged man rose from behind the bench with his magnum trained in the direction of the shooters, crunching down on his food. They had spread out more now, and one of them was only about 7 metres from the short man's location. This sangheili's shield's flickered as four high calibre, armour piercing rounds were ejected one by one from the hammerhead's muzzle, and into his side. Each one dissipated into a mist of sparks as the shield deflected them away and splintered them into fragments. As you can imagine, the sangheili turned his attention towards Steve, who had now finished his rich treat. This redirection of fire left him open to a shotgun blast from the bartender, that had just emerged from behind the counter again. The pellets tore through the alien's shields entirely and ripped apart the facial flesh behind in a spray of purple blood. Lifeless, the creature's body was propelled to the floor by the force of the projectiles.

All fire then focused upon the counter, tearing it apart in a spray of dust, alcohol and fragments of glass; though the man behind it had ducked away before the assault landed. Dave then cropped up from the end of the counter, face locked into a cold and neutral stare as he directed his own shotgun towards another sangheili. A single blast knocked out the beast's shields. Dave then ducked away again, in anticipation of the return fire.

More chaos was added to the mix as a Molotov cocktail spun out from a darkened booth in the corner. A flicker of Daws' moustache could be seen as he crouched away again from the throw. The cocktail broke across the shieldless sangheili and quickly spread a gout of flame across its abdomen and lower body. In the ensuing pain, the beast screamed words of sangheilian as it writhed in the flame, attempting to extinguish itself. A single hammerhead round then slammed through the front of its head where its mouth was exposed, and was swallowed up in it before propelling purple viscera back out of the hole it created.

The bartender had moved to a less gunfire covered area of the counter and stood up to take a shot. He did, though it was only glancing. Unfortunately, fate had dealt him a bad hand of cards as a high energy yield explosive known colloquially as the "plasma grenade" came sailing towards him. A pathetic attempt was made to bat the lethal object away with the shotgun, this merely ended up deflecting it into the floor next to him. The bartender, along with a fairly large section of space he had occupied, was very soon no more.

In the tinnitus of the explosion one might be able to distinguish a shouting of "Jobe man!" but one most certainly could not identify its source.

The two remaining aggressors spoke quickly to each in other in guttural but frantic sangheilian as one sprayed bolts of suppressive fire in a wide arc across Steve and Dave, while the other fired upon those hiding on the opposite side of the room. Then, the fire stopped. Four plasma grenades were removed, all were lit, two were thrown upwards to land on the two sangheili corpses, the others were held in four fingered hands and ran by their holders into suicidal charges towards both sides of the room.

Steve's side had much to be thankful for as they managed to avert the same fate that Jobe had suffered: while Little Steve's hammerhead rounds failed to hit the sangheili's grenade, Dave's shotgun spread managed to do the job, detonating it prematurely before he of little self-preservation had reached them.

The opposite side could not avert such a fate, being engulfed in an explosion of blue along with the aggressor who held the grenade. And that was that... In an instant, the building fell quiet once more. Steve, rattled, stood up straight from his bench, gun quivering slightly in his hands as it continued to aim across the room. His face was covered in a layer of sawdust, and his mouth hung open as he tried to inhale as much air as possible.

Dave's brown hair was filled with similar dust as well as large splinters of wood and shards of glass. He lowered his smoking shotgun and turned his gaze across to Steve, eyes concerned and mouth similarly held open.

21 dead civilians lay with their bodies in various different states of mutilation. Four civilians crouched in equally extreme states of shell shock behind various protective objects. Three boys remained alive.

The pub was absolutely desolated. The counter was a charred, broken and molten wreck with alcohol pooling around it from smashed bottles. Scorch marks, pink shards, glass shards and wooden shards were littered all over the room among corpses and spreads of blood.

But alas, the raining outside had stopped, as had the attack of the four alien aggressors. So the only sound left was that of heaving breathing. That was, until Daws spoke up: "Ahh, guys, one of the bastard's nailed me in the arm. Help me out over here."

Dave and Steve uttered "Shit." in unison, before walking towards the corner Daws was recessed in, boots crunching on top of rubble as they went.

* * *

-AN

Hello all. I know its been awhile since I last updated but life has been keeping me busy. This chapter is significantly longer than those before it, which I hope you have enjoyed. Also, that was the first shootout scene I have ever written. I'd like to here people's feedback on what I did well and what I could improve. I'm always open to constructive criticism.

Thank you for reading and hopefully enjoying,

RB


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